


Spartacus!Dean!AU

by betelgeuse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Ancient Rome, Bottom Dean Winchester, Centurion!Cas, Gladiators, John Winchester's Bad Parenting, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Slavery, Spartacus!Dean, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 02:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betelgeuse/pseuds/betelgeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AncientRome!AU. This is not the story of how a slave brought the Roman Empire to his knees, this is not a story of freedom and free will. This is story of something more tender and intimate. This is a story about love. (Plot With Porn)<br/>Written for SPN-RBB 2013.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spartacus!Dean!AU

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, look at me, writing a PWP. TBH this was a little out of my comfort zone because historical AU but the art was gorgeous and I couldn't stop myself from claiming it!  
> Also, a huge round of applause to my beta, [Laura](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SurlyCat), for taking on this fic! It was shitty before she worked her magic and frankly she should be credited as my co-writer because she added so much to this fic!  
> This is the art that inspired the story. [ Go check it out!](http://clotpolelis.livejournal.com/255117.html)

The door creaks slightly as it opens, the hinges protesting the movement. It’s one of bigger cages that Dean is in; it’s nothing more than a long hall with a row of small cots on both sides and a chamber pot at the end. And he is alone here, waiting for his master for the night. Dean can't hear the footsteps even though he knows the other man is moving towards him; the damned bastard is silent like the night. Any other time, any other place, it would have put Dean on guard instantly- in this life he’s chosen, it’s better to be safe than sorry- but he can hear the soft swishing of a cape and the rhythmic metallic clink of a sword hitting one’s flank with each step and he relaxes. The gladiators are not allowed weapons in the cage. Not that a weapon would be necessary to harm a man, of course; they are all taught to how tear a person's throat out with their bare hands. It must be someone from the army then, as civilians aren’t allowed to carry weapons into the heart of Alastair’s school, either. Someone rich; Dean is not easy on the purse. _Some rich ass Centurion, then_. The sounds stop right behind him.

Dean smiles. "Hey, Cas", he says without turning.

There is no deference in Dean’s voice; he addresses the free man as an equal. If he were to be heard speaking to a Centurion this way in public, he would be flogged and thrown in the pit. Centurions are respected. They command more than 80 soldiers each- the prodigal son of the D’Angelo family even more- and are the very symbol of authority. They are the pillars of strength within the Roman army. They are fire and wrath. They are angels of destruction. Down here in the cages though, there’s no one to hear Dean’s irreverence. And even if they did, they’d been taught to keep their mouth shut and they’d learned well. Their time on The Rack took care of that.

"Hello Dean."

The answering voice is as gravelly and rough as ever. It’s comforting and familiar to Dean in a way nothing else is anymore.

Dean turns around. His muscles ache, and wounds are still raw from the bout with the Samnite that ended not an hour ago.

Castiel stands behind him, eyes locked on the wounds that litter Dean’s exposed back. The Centurion’s body is a straight line of heat behind Dean’s back and Dean leans back against it. He feels the other man relax at touch, his sword hand coming up to play with the blonde man’s hair. Dean looks up with a pleased sigh. The Centurion is decked in full ceremonial armor, bar the helmet and Dean can’t help but admire the glistening body. The Centurion’s hair is flattened to his head with sweat, small tufts of hair rebelling and standing up after being freed from under the helmet the Centurions wears. Dean feels warmth blossom in his chest at the sight. Even decked in silk, chainmail, and cape, Dean can see that same boy he had met when he was 12. That same boy with messy hair and too-blue eyes and a heart of gold. The same boy, who never really fit in with the high society he was born into and had no concept of personal space. The same boy that Dean fell in love with again and again.

Sometimes, Dean can’t believe he has this. Has Castiel. That this is not just a dream, that such a man wants him and looks at him like he’s something precious and Dean can’t breathe around the intensity of all the emotions he feels. He needs to touch Castiel, to feel the other man him under his palm, feel his body so that he knows this is not a dream. Dean tries to touch the Centurion but his shoulder protests the movement and he drops his hand with a pained hiss.

Castiel suddenly goes rigid against him, muscles coiling on impulse. "Are you hurt, Dean?" Out of his peripheral vision, Dean can see Castiel’s hands are clenched into fists, anger clear in the lines of his body.

"I can take care of myself, Cas. I’ve done this dance before."  Because Dean had. Three years, Dean has been in this place. After the 4 month initiation by Alastair himself, Dean had fought over a hundred gladiators, and killed more than half of them. Alastair was famous for his sine missone matches. You either win or you die, and Dean was his champion fighter.

"Did he hurt you, Dean?" There is a hint of steel in Cas's voice, of authority he never exhibits over the other man. He sounds angry but Dean recognizes it for what it is; fear and worry. Castiel is worried about him.

Dean swallows down a cheeky reply and answers truthfully. "Cas, I'm okay. It's only a flesh wound. They had it cauterized and stitched already." It wasn’t that bad; he’s been distracted today and the other gladiator had managed to smash his shield into Dean’s shoulder.

But Cas's hands are already skimming over the dirty bandages, darkened eyes taking in the damage on Dean’s shoulder. The wounds aren’t bleeding anymore, but the bandages are stained with blood and the green balm that had been used to treat them. Cas moves a cautious finger over one of the wounds. Dean shivers at the gentle touch, grateful when it is removed as Cas moves around to stand in front of him.

"I'm okay, Cas." Dean's voice is soft, reassuring, as he stands up and turns around to face the other man. "I'm okay."

"You shouldn't be in the matches.” Cas is looking slightly off to the right as he speaks, where the edge of the bandage peeks over the crest of Dean’s shoulder. “You don't have to fight. I can take you away, you ca-" Cas presses his lips in a tight line, cutting himself off as his fist clenches, hovering over the sword on his hip.

Dean grabs Cas's chin and looks him in the eye. "No."

Cas looks hurt, exasperation and helplessness in his too-bright eyes, but Dean continues. "I can’t leave, Cas. Not now. I can't leave ‘em here to rot, and you know it. If I’m gonna help, I have to do it from here. I can’t do it from the outside."

Cas huffs and looks away, jawline ticking. "I don't like seeing you hurt."

Dean grabs the other man’s hand, trying to pacify the righteous anger beginning to cloud the other’s eyes. "Cas, in a few days, it'll be over. I'll be free. We'll be free."

Cas tightens his grip on Dean's hand but says nothing; it’s not necessary. The silences between them have never been empty, a thousand desires and thoughts projected between them in the space of a look.

"I could end him," Cas offers.

"And then another would just take his place. He isn’t the disease Cas, he's just a symptom, you know this."

"But why you? After all this time, I finally find you, and now you belong to him," Cas growls, possessive and distraught. The ‘you should be mine’ hung silently in the air between them, so thick that Dean was sure he could have plucked the words down and held them in his hands.

"Cas," Dean warns. He isn’t thrilled to be bound to fucking Alastair by oath, but he isn’t property. He doesn’t belong to anyone- not to his master, not to Castiel. He may not be free citizen anymore, not really, but he isn’t a fucking object to be bartered.

Cas glances downward at the chastisement in Dean’s tone, but says nothing.

Dean can understand the other man’s frustration; he hates this situation as much as the Centurion does, but Dean needs to be right where he is, if he’s going to free the slaves. After years of this, what’s a few more days? Despite his brash nature, Dean could be patient when he had a goal in mind, and they’d already spent far too much time and effort on their scheme to drop it now. He knew that Cas’s impatience was due to the hurt of seeing Dean exposed to such cruelty each day, and his heart warmed a bit at the notion. Even after all these years and all the ugliness that Cas had seen in Dean, the Centurion still wanted him, fought for him. In different circumstances, it almost would’ve been laughable; the very thought, that a widely-feared and highly-decorated Centurion would want anything to do with a broken, penniless _gladiator,_ much less be so easily scolded with a word. But deep down, he would always be Cas- Dean’s Cas- regardless of their titles or armor or class, and they both knew it.

“Come here,” Dean murmurs, bringing a hand to rest on the side of Cas’s neck.

Cas leans in easily at Dean’s request. The kiss Dean offers is short, but full of affection. Dean lowers his hands to tangle their fingers at their sides, but stays close, their chests almost brushing.

“Just a few more days, Cas,” Dean whispers in the other man’s ear. “Okay?”

Pulling back a bit, Dean is unsurprised at the frown of frustration that knits the Centurion’s brows, but pleased nonetheless at the deep breath that Cas releases with a short nod. When their eyes meet though, those blue pools take on a new look, heated not with anger, but desire and determination.

Untangling their fingers, Cas lifts his hands to Dean’s hips and slides them around to cup possessively over the muscular globes of his ass, careful to avoid the bandages above.

“I don’t like it,” Cas says, voice pitched low. “But we _have_ worked hard,” he relents, leaning in to suck a bruising kiss to Dean’s collarbone. Cas nips gently at the mark, squeezing briefly at the flesh in his hands. “And you are worth it,” he says with a note of finality.

The sentiment makes Dean want to back away, to argue, but he learned long ago that Cas would not be moved on the subject. And right now, he has no desire to use his lips for anything but to pay worship to that sun-darkened skin, before their time is up for the night. Soon enough, they will be free to do this properly, privately, without the constraints of a time allotment or the possibility that it might be their last time. But for now, every moment matters, and neither man has any intention of letting the chance go by.

As Cas pulls them closer for a heated kiss, Dean’s hand automatically comes up to thread through the Centurion’s dark hair, tightening reflexively when Cas lets loose a low groan between their lips. The groan melts into a growl as Dean’s other hand skates down to palm at Cas’s length that’s hardening between them. Cas bucks into the touch, breaking the kiss to mouth along Dean’s jawline.

Dean’s free hand scrambles along Cas’s waist, looking for the little pouch that he knows is attached to Cas’s belt.

Cas pulls back, stilling Dean’s search with a hand to his wrist. “You’re injured, Dean. We shouldn’t join until you are healed.”

Dean scowls and continues his search until he finds the pouch containing the small vial of oil that Cas keeps there. “I’m not made of glass, Cas.”

Cas opens his mouth to argue, but Dean cuts him off with a nudge to his shoulder. “You just sit down, and I’ll do all the work.” Then he presses the vial into Cas’s hand. “Well, most of the work,” he adds with a devilish smirk.

With one last incredulous look, Cas sighs and undresses before sitting down and pulling the cork from the vial. Dean also strips, removing the little clothing he had on, and straddles Cas’s lap. His back aches and his wounds throb, but Dean needs this; needs the pleasure that will thread itself alongside the pain to remind him why it will all be worth it. And as if on cue with his thoughts, Dean feels the first gentle press of a slick finger against his entrance, while Cas presses soothing kisses against his throat.

“Cas,” Dean breathes, reaching down blindly to take both their lengths in his hand, stroking languidly.

Cas’s breath hitches at the sensation, but his finger continues its slow movements, always so careful even after all this time. Dean can’t help but start to grind his hips in a silent plea for more, and Cas finally obliges after a minute, adding a second finger. With a low grunt, Dean’s grip tightens around their now leaking cocks as he rocks back, trying to get those fingers deeper.

“Patience,” Cas rasps. And if Dean isn’t mistaken, the Centurion looks a little smug as he says it.

Then a clever twist and prod of those incredible fingers find that magic spot, and Dean can’t contain his cry at the pleasure that zings up his spine. His grip falls slack as he takes in the sensation, his cock hardening to the point of uncomfortable as Cas works him open.

“You always open so beautifully for me,” Cas says, voice strained and oddly awed, adding a third finger.

Dean wants to laugh at himself for feeling his cheeks heat at the praise, rather than the fact that he’s writhing and moaning and naked in Cas’s lap with three fingers buried in his ass. But Cas is a man of few words, and Dean wants to lap them up, loving that the man would choose to use his breath to let Dean know that he is cherished.

“Please,” Dean moans brokenly.

Cas moves his free hand to stroke teasingly at Dean’s cock, thumbing the pre-come gathered at the head and swipe it down in a fluid motion. “Better?” he asks teasingly, continuing to stretch Dean with the other hand. His look is definitely smug, now.

“Asshole,” Dean mutters without heat, shuddering as a fingertip slides against the slit on his dick.

With a dark chuckle, Cas releases Dean’s cock and reaches for the vial. Dean whimpers as Cas carefully removes his fingers from Dean’s heat, drizzling a bit more oil on them before slicking his own cock.

Although he knows it would probably be easier on his back to turn around, Dean doesn’t want Cas to be (literally) faced with the bandages and feel guilty, so he opts to continue facing the other man. With a hand braced on each of Cas’s shoulders, Dean lifts up so that Cas can guide himself into Dean. At the feeling of Cas’s cock nudging against his hole, Dean takes a deep, relaxing breath and slowly lowers himself down, hissing when the head breeches the first ring of muscle. Cas moans low and leans back a bit to give Dean more room as the gladiator sinks down, agonizingly slowly. Once fully seated, Dean slumps forward, resting his forehead against Cas’s as he waits for both of their bodies to adjust.

Shoulders tense, Cas screws his eyes shut in an effort to maintain and not just thrust up into the tight heat engulfing him. His breaths are coming in short pants, while his hands tremble slightly where they rest on Dean’s hips. Not that he would ever say so out loud, but Dean relishes that tremble, knowing that he can affect Cas like this; can make him lose control. Leaning back, Dean brushes a lock of sweat-damp hair back from Cas’s forehead.

“You good?” Dean whispers.

Rather than answer, Cas lifts his face to slant their lips together and rolls his hips upward, gently. The movement earns a moan from each of them, swallowed in the kiss. Cas is patient though, and lets Dean set the pace from there, not wanting to jar the gladiator’s muscles any more than necessary. They rock gently for a few minutes, savoring each gasp and shudder, hands wandering over battle-scarred flesh. Still mindful of his wounds, Dean only barely picks up the pace. But then Cas shifts his hips ever so slightly, and Dean yelps as Cas’s cock hits his prostate.

“Oh fuck! There, right there,” Dean moans.

Cas’s hands grip tighter around Dean’s hips. “Hold still,” Cas commands.

And then he’s thrusting up into Dean, making sure to hit that spot, over and over, reveling in the noises and curses falling from Dean’s lips, and the way one of Dean’s hands has moved to fist in his hair. He leans forward until their lips are almost touching, tasting the moist exhalations as Dean gasps with every thrust. He can tell that Dean is close by the way the man is starting to clench around his cock. And Cas is right there with him, but he wants Dean to come first. Wants to see him fall apart.

“Touch yourself,” Cas says hoarsely, more breath than voice.

Dean obliges easily, hissing at the contact on his oversensitive member, and then groaning loudly when Cas starts to thrust a little harder.

“God, Cas. So good. Feel so fucking good inside me,” Dean babbles, vision starting to white at the edges.

Groaning at Dean’s words, Cas leans in to take one of Dean’s nipples between his lips, sucking at the hardened nub. It’s just the push Dean needs, and he comes with a shout, whole body shuddering as he spills his release between them. With the obscene clench of Dean’s ass around his cock, Cas follows right after him, filling the taller man with a grunted, ‘Dean!’ muffled into his shoulder.

After a moment, Cas leans back against the wall that the cot is propped against, pulling Dean with him so they can catch their breath. Dean mouths at Cas’s collarbone, still too breathless to kiss, but needing to make sure that Cas understands the wordless promise in the gentle touch, that there will be so much more than this. That despite how many years they’ve known each other, they’ve only just begun.

Cas sighs contentedly at the touch, but shifts his hips to pull his now-softening cock out. Dean makes a noise of discomfort and shifts to help him, knowing that they really don’t have time to bask. It doesn’t stop him though, from taking a moment to get a good look at Cas’s wrecked appearance, feeling a little prideful that he was responsible for it. After a brief kiss, Dean pulls himself off of Cas’s lap and stands up to retrieve a cloth to clean them up, but Cas is faster, and takes to the task himself.

Clean and sated and dressed now, Dean feels the physical exhaustion and pain start to creep up again and eyes the cot. Cas follows his line of sight and tsks at him to lie down. Dean watches quietly from the cot as Cas re-dresses and checks to make sure that every bit of his uniform is in place with obvious reluctance, though he doesn’t dawdle. With no more excuse to hang around, Cas paces over and kneels down next to Dean’s head and places a possessive kiss to his lips.

“Goodnight, Dean. I’ll see you in a few days,” Cas says with a pointed look.

“Night, Cas,” Dean says, a small grin tugging at his lips.

And with that, Cas lets himself out the way he came in, leaving Dean to the cold solitude of his cage.

Even though his body feels heavy with exhaustion, Dean’s mind is fully awake. He can’t help but think about how different his life is going to be here in a few days, which then leads to thinking about how much things have changed, even in the time since Cas found him again. He still feels disgusted, despite Cas’s reassurances, when he thinks back to the way that Cas had found him, still fresh and feral from Alistair’s training.

The gladiators are treated badly enough as it is, but the training is brutal in the deepest sense of the word, and Alistair is the worst master you could possibly get stuck with. The four-month initiation had been horrific, and only one in five boys made it out. The Rack, as the initiation was called, was designed to weed out the weak while turning the survivors, if you could call them that, into blood-thirsty demons. The Rack broke them, stripping away their humanity until they held only the appearance of the people they had once been. After their time on The Rack was over, they were forced to fight other gladiators as well as wild beasts in the arena, for the twisted pleasure of the rich and noble. Of course, gladiators don’t fight to the death nowadays, at least not for the general public; they are expensive, after all. But there are always the special shows, mind you, only put on for the wealthiest assholes in the capital. Where the depraved take pleasure in seeing the corpses of the defeated being dragged away, or disappearing into the jaws of a lion or tiger. Cheering, when they hear the blood-curdling screams of the fighters as they’re ripped apart, clapping for every life lost.

Dean had been there right after he got off The Rack, in a fight to demonstrate himself as Alastair’s new pet project and had ripped the other man -his name was Gordon, Dean thinks- to pieces. He had shown no mercy. He couldn't. Dean would have done anything to avoid returning to The Rack. Alastair had praised him then. _Good boy_. _Perfect little killer, aren’t you?_ Dean had preened under the praise. He had worked The Rack, too; the only choice was to work it, or let it work you. He killed and tortured and laughed when they begged for mercy. He remembers the cries of the younger boys, the ones sold by their families to pay debts, or the ones born to the whores of the legion. Their flesh had been pliant and the knife dug in with ease, their blood warm as it splashed on Dean's body. It was around this time that Cas had found him again. Broken, bloody and barely human. He had seen Dean fighting in the arena, had recognized his friend, despite the scars and dried blood on his face. It was a Gaul that Dean had killed that day, bashing his head in with a shield.

Cas had come to Dean when he was back in his cage after the fight, in guise of wanting to admire Alastair’s prize pet. Gladiators are well looked after, as they are a hefty investment for the owners, and Dean was no exception. Dean had been awaiting the arrival of the Tran woman, to treat his wounds, when Cas walked in. Dean hadn’t recognized Cas then; the Centurion was in his uniform, looking every bit like any other spectator calling out for blood in the arena. And Dean had lost it. Dean had launched himself bodily in attack, despite the shackles and chains that held him back.  He had tried to rip Cas to pieces. But Cas had just side-stepped Dean’s lunges and tugged him in, holding Dean close as he gripped the man’s arms tight to his sides. Cas whispered Dean's name in his ear and told him who he was, who _they_ were, and Dean didn't believe him. He had struggled and cursed and spit at the other man. But Cas came back again, met Dean after every fight and told him his past again and again until Dean remembered. It had taken some time, endless nights spent with Cas, who told him stories about his childhood- their childhood- when Dean was too exhausted to move from the day’s activities. Cas’s voice soothed him then, and he felt safe again. It took a long time but slowly, he remembered. Bits and pieces at first, but then it was a torrent of memories, of Cas, of Sam, of his mom and dad and Dean slowly regained his humanity.

Alastair had been disappointed seeing Dean lose his bloodlust, but he could do nothing with Cas acting as Dean's personal guardian angel. Even Alistair wouldn’t be so foolish as to challenge a respected Centurion, after all. Soon, Alistair had no choice but to grudgingly demote Dean to fighting in the public fights. When Dean relayed the news to Cas that night, Cas had kissed him, and Dean had kissed right back, much to his own surprise.

Things between them changed after that; Cas took Dean to bed. Cas bought Dean’s time as his bed warmer, and Alastair was more than happy to hand Dean off for the nights; he didn’t fetch much money anymore, now that he’d gone _soft_. Dean had expected their relations to hurt, like those times when one pretentious lord or another would take him, wanting the victor for themselves. Cas however, had been slow and gentle, taking his time with his friend. Up to that point, Dean had never known that his body was capable of experiencing such pleasure.

Cas had actually wanted to buy Dean’s contract outright- a gladiator was expensive, but Cas did come from the illustrious D’Angelo family and could easily afford it-  but Dean had refused. Dean had seen the hell that the slaves and the gladiators were put through and knew that he had to save them. The Senate would never free the slaves, the senators themselves too involved in the trade to give them up; their freedom was up to the slaves themselves. Most of them were too broken to plan anything, however. The gruesome, flagrantly-displayed punishments were very effective as a deterrent to rebellion.

So Dean had planned in the dark with Cas, for days, months, to free his brothers. Castiel used his connections as a respected Centurion to help Dean in his quest for freedom. They would make their move in the annual tournament thrown by the D’Angelo family, unite the slaves _en masse_ in one ground, then break free in the night. There were only a few guards positioned around the theaters for protection at night, but they were mostly there to deter trespassers from entering, rather than to stop the slaves from escaping. For perhaps the first and only time, Dean praised the upper-echelon’s arrogance on the matter. Once escaped, they would all leave the city, moving south, cross the river and hide in the mountains. They would remain hidden away until Cas’s contacts could help them gain free citizenship in other lands. The Roman legion was already busy with fighting the revolts in Hispania and their response time would be high. It would take the legion days to return to the capital. According to their calculations, they could already be hidden safely in the mountains by the time the army would be mobilized to bring them back.

Right now though, Dean knows he needs to sleep, if he’s going to have the energy to pull this off in a few days, while recovering from injuries no less. Forcing thoughts of his history and escape plans to the back of his mind, Dean lingers instead on images of quiet countryside, where the blood-thirsty cheers of the arena can’t reach. He’ll have a new home in such a place, soon.

***

After countless nights of plotting, the time has come. It’s been three days since Cas’s last visit to Dean’s cage, and both men’s nerves are worked up, keenly aware of what is to come. Just as planned, Cas is here again, and though they’ve just finished discussing their plan one last time, Cas is still unsettled. The Centurion has no fear for his or Dean’s ability; they’re both seasoned warriors, and they know the stakes. But it doesn’t change the fact that he’d rather avoid putting Dean in such a dangerous situation altogether. They’ve had this argument enough that Cas doesn’t have to say it, but Dean can see the apprehension written all over the other man’s face.

Dean sighs. The tournament starts tomorrow, and he doesn’t want Cas to get cold feet now. It’s dangerous, yes, they might die, but he needs Cas by his side to go through with it. Dean sends a pleading look to the other man when he catches his eye.

"I'm sorry." Cas says, defeated.

Dean hates that sound in Cas’s voice, wishes he could give in and erase it but as much as he wants to be with Cas, he has an obligation to his fellow gladiators and slaves. He is their ticket to freedom.

"Just a little while longer," Dean says, standing and cupping Cas's face. He pecks the other man softly on the lips in an effort to distract him. It doesn’t work. Cas isn’t responding, so Dean clasps his hands more firmly and kisses Cas again, forcefully, trying to coax out a response with his tongue.

Cas tries to resist, but it’s Dean, and soon he has his arms around Dean's waist, pulling the man close. It’s a slow dance of their tongues, familiar and comfortable.  Eventually breaking apart for air, Dean moves his lips to trail along Cas's jaw. Cas let out a soft sigh as Dean’s lips rasp against his five o’clock shadow.

"You should shave more often," Dean murmurs.

"I’m a very busy person. I don’t _often_ have the time,” Cas retorts.

"Yeah right, I know how busy you are! You're just a lazy ass." Dean nips at his ear.

Cas grips at Dean’s hair, pulling his head back before smirking. "You should show me some respect, _Dean_."

"Maybe you should teach me." Dean's voice is light and teasing, but Castiel can see the silent prayer in his eyes.

They may not live tomorrow and this could very well be their last night together, so Dean wants to make it worthwhile. The time they have with each other tonight is short, anyway.

Cas gives in. He can’t resist the other man anything. Not after he’d lost Dean once already, and Dean knows it as well. Some part of Cas enjoys it as well, reminding him of the young boy demanding that he leave his studies to play with him by the river.

Cas grabs Dean’s head, tugging it back, exposing the- remarkably- unmarked throat of the gladiator. He puts his teeth to the fluttering pulse, just the tease of a threat. “Maybe I will,” he growls into the delicate skin beneath his teeth.

Dean shivers and goes lax in his friend’s hold, letting Castiel take control. Cas lets out a small moan of satisfaction at having Dean trust him so completely, so easily.

Cas mouths over the light stubble under the other’s chin. He licks and sucks his way over, to just under Dean’s ear. He takes the earlobe into his mouth and bites down on it lightly. Dean moans, feeling heat sweep his body, pleasant and pulsing in the wake of the Centurion’s hands as they roam over Dean’s mostly naked body. Cas pecks him on the lips once before he moves back to suck a mark high on his friend’s throat. Dean shifts against him, and Cas can feel the other man’s arousal through the leather on his leg, his own dick twitching eagerly in response. He grinds against Dean, and is rewarded with a breathy moan.

Dean tries to return other man’s touches, but his shoulder throbs from where it hasn’t healed quite right, and a pained hiss escapes his lips. Cas looks at him concerned, but Dean just shakes his head. The pain isn’t all that bad, but his mind had just been occupied with sweeter things and the reminder caught him off guard.

“Bed?” Cas asks even as he doesn’t look completely convinced.

“Bed.”

Cas slowly walks Dean backward, until the back of his knees hit the edge of the small cot in the cage. Cas nudges him back until Dean is sprawled on the bed, shoulder cushioned on the poor excuse for a pillow he has, legs dangling over the edge. Cas is still wearing his uniform, minus the red cape, already torn off the clasp by Dean's wandering hands. Cas removes the sword from his belt and drops it to the ground, producing a loud clanging noise that makes Dean wince. And for a moment he’s back in the pit, his body torn and beaten as he howls in pain. Dean chokes on his breath, his throat closing up in panic. He closes his eyes and curls up, animal instinct taking over as nausea sweeps through his body. But then Cas's hands are there, caressing his face as he whispers an apology with every touch. And Dean can breathe again. His body recognizes the other man’s touch before his mind does, and he relaxes. Tension bleeds out of his muscles and he looks up to his friend, hating the look of worry pinching at Cas’s features.

"I'm sorry, Cas,” Dean whispers. He feels the shame in his gut, how _weak_ he was, how the smallest thing set him off. Of course it doesn’t happen in the arena; if it did, he’d be long dead by now. Only when he was with Cas, when Dean was himself, did he fall prey to the ghosts of the battles he’d fought, but could never win; there is no victory in defeating a broken opponent, as all who had entered the arena were.

"Don't,” Cas replies, voice low and soothing. "It's not your fault." He kisses Dean, a pressing of lips that while lacking the previous passion, speaks clearly of comfort and reassurance.

Dean would say that he’s not a woman1 and doesn’t need the constant reassuring; that he can _handle_ it. But he loves it, the way Cas understands him, reading between the lines without a word exchanged. It makes them a hell of a team, especially when they fight together, weaving in and out of each other's space in a graceful, violent dance.

Dean smiles to himself when he remembers the day that they first met. Dean had been fighting off a handful of boys that had attacked Sam, and was quickly losing. Until, that is, this small, dark haired boy jumped into the fray and had landed half of the boys on their backs with a few well-aimed punches. Cas's fighting style was very different from Dean's, all quick, precise cuts, unlike Dean, who depended on brute force and muscle power. Perhaps that’s why they complemented each other so flawlessly, even then.

"Dean?"

Dean doesn’t realize he’s spacing out until Cas's warm voice brings him out of his reverie. Cas is looking at him, a silent question in his eyes. Sometimes, Dean doesn’t want to be touched intimately after the flashbacks. It reminds him of the days before Cas found him again, when he was forced to give himself over to whatever lord had a big enough purse to buy him for the night. When this happens, Cas just holds him through the night, providing silent comfort.

Dean smiles at him. "I was just thinking,” he says, pecking Cas on the lips lightly to reassure him. "You remember the day we met?"

"When you foolishly took on eight boys twice your size?” Cas mouths teasingly at Dean’s clavicle, continuing with his ministrations from before.

Dean punches him in the arm lightly before he continues. “Dad was furious, you remember? He almost hit me when he heard what happened.”

He pauses, because he hates thinking about his father. How the man had betrayed his own family, running away after he fell into debt with Alastair, forcing Dean to sell himself into this life, taking him away from Cas. When Alastair’s men had come to collect, Dean had given over his freedom to Alastair in exchange for Sam’s.  At the time, Sam was only a kid. Hell, Dean was only barely a man, himself. But he was strong and able and Alastair would get more money having him as a gladiator in his school than he would a simple pleasure slave. So he had offered his services to Alistair and sent Sam away, sending him to Castiel, because Dean that knew his friend would look after his little brother. Technically, Dean was still free, but he was bound to fight and die for his master by oath and it didn’t make any difference that he had volunteered because he belonged to Alastair for all intents and purposes.

Cas makes a low noise of acknowledgment in his throat, indicating for Dean to continue as he mouths at the gladiator’s sensitive nipples. Dean arches up under the other man, hissing when Cas bites down on the tightened nubs.

“I am really glad I met you then, Cas,” Dean says softly.

The Centurion lifts his head up with a curious look in his eyes and Dean can’t help but continue when the look is accompanied by that little head tilt that Dean has grown so fond of over the years.

“With Mom dying and Dad leaving, I wouldn’t have made it without you. I needed you then. I-I… ”

Dean trails off, unable to continue, unable to vocalize how much he still needs Cas. He looks at Cas, hoping that Cas understands, how much he loves the other man, because this may be the last time they have each other like this and Dean needs Cas to know. And Cas must get it because then there’s Cas’s lips against his, desperate and intense and Dean melts under it.

Cas uses his free hand to hastily remove Dean’s loincloth before moving back to remove his own clothes. Dean’s hands join Cas’s and desperately tug away the shirt and leather armor he wears. It’s a blur of clothes hitting the dirty floor before they are completely naked, except for the amulet of some foreign god Dean wears around his neck.

Cas climbs on top of Dean on the small cot. How two fully grown men manage to fit on there is still a mystery to Dean, but he isn’t complaining because it means that Cas has to nearly straddle him so they don’t fall off. Cas kisses him, hands exploring the dips and curves of Dean’s toned chest. Dean has one hand curled around Cas’s shoulder and the other in the man’s rough black hair. Their lower bodies glide smoothly against each other, half-hard cocks gathering delicious friction. Dean moans deep in his throat, loving the slow, unhurried pace that Cas set from the start. They move as if they have all the time in the world to learn each other, not just stolen moments in the dark of night. Cas glides his lips over Dean’s cheekbones, lips barely touching the flushed skin beneath him before nipping at his ear. He takes the lobe in his lips before biting down. Dean groans at the sensation, the area around his ear always so sensitive. Cas eagerly takes advantage of the weakness.

Dean is fully hard now, his member leaking pre-come. He bucks his hips eagerly, but Cas just chuckles and moves away. Dean growls at Cas, but is cut short as Cas takes his cock in hand.

“Cas!” Dean gasps.

“Like that, Dean?” Cas finishes his question with an expert twist of his hand that has Dean keening.

Cas keeps up the rhythm he’s built as he presses his lips to Dean’s. Dean sighs in pleasure, Cas taking the opportunity to slide his tongue into Dean’s mouth. Their tongues tangle in a heated dance, Dean moaning as Cas does absolutely illegal things with his hands.

Dean tries to take other man’s member in his hand, to reciprocate the pleasure he was feeling but Cas swats his hand away.

“No,” Cas says simply, not bothering to elaborate as he kisses his way across Dean’s jaw.

It isn’t necessary though, because Dean can see the determination in the man’s face; Cas wants to make sure that Dean feels his own pleasure with undivided attention. And that’s okay, because one way or another, Dean will make sure that Cas is satisfied by the end of the night; Dean may be many things, but a selfish lover he is not.

Slowing his strokes to Dean’s cock, Cas mouths his way down the other man’s throat, pausing to suck a harsh kiss to the pulse point, satisfaction blooming in his chest at the knowledge that Dean will bear his mark. Continuing his path, Cas licks and kisses his way down Dean’s torso, pressing silent words of worship into each scar that marks the man’s flesh. Dean squirms at the attention, but Cas continues on, needing Dean to see what Cas sees; that the marks are simply the perseverance and strength that Cas loves, made manifest.

Once he’s reached the bottom of Dean’s ribcage, Cas shifts his own body down, one foot coming to rest on the ground. Dean lets out a little gasp, abdominal muscles twitching as Cas nips at a particularly sensitive spot next to Dean’s hipbone. Cas can’t help but chuckle affectionately into the skin beneath his mouth.

“Cas,” Dean warns with a pitiful excuse of a glare.

It only serves to egg Cas on though, as he drops down further, to wrap his lips around the head of Dean’s cock, flicking only the barest tip of his tongue over the slit to gather the pre-come pearling there. Dean hisses at the too-gentle contact, but it quickly dissolves into a moan as Cas’s clever tongue swirls more purposefully around the crown before he pulses his suction in a few short bursts.

“Fuck!” Dean groans, hips bucking uselessly against Cas’s firmly-planted hands.

Cas chuckles darkly around the girth in his mouth, pleased at the way he’s able to pull obscenities so easily from Dean’s mouth. He feels the way Dean’s length hardens further against his tongue and takes pity on his friend, finally lowering his mouth down to take as much as he can, wrapping his fingers around the base. Dean’s hand scrambles to tangle in his hair and Cas can’t hold back the small groan as those fingers tighten around his locks.

He bobs slowly, applying suction in unpredictable patterns, his hand moving in time with the rhythm of his mouth. With cleverly-timed swirls and undulations of his tongue, Cas picks up the pace, pulling off from time to time to tongue at the head before swooping back down. Within minutes, Dean is panting harshly as his thighs start that tell-tale tremble, but Cas isn’t finished yet, wanting to draw it out just a little longer. He pulls off, only to drag his lips down the length and take one of Dean’s balls into his mouth, sucking lightly before doing the same with the other. Dean’s eyes screw shut as he keens at the sensation.

“Dean,” he murmurs, voice graveled with lust. When Dean meets his eye, he continues. “Keep your eyes on me. I want you to watch.”

Impossibly, Dean’s pupils blow even wider at Cas’s words, cock twitching in his hand as a fresh blurt of pre-come leaks down the side. Rather than respond verbally, Dean simply nods and brings his free hand to cup Cas’s jaw, thumb rubbing tenderly at his cheekbone. Satisfied, Cas takes the length back into his mouth, making sure to keep his eyes locked with Dean’s as he slowly builds his pace back up. With his free hand, Cas pulls Dean’s hand down just a fraction on his face so that Dean can feel with his thumb the obscene motion of his cock rubbing against the inside of Cas’s cheek.

Dean’s eyes turn glassy as he struggles to keep his eyes open against the wave of sensations, looking utterly wrecked as he peers down his body. And Cas is certain that he’s never seen a more beautiful sight than Dean, skin flushed with desire and face contorted in pleasure that only Cas can bring him.

When the trembling returns, Cas doesn’t try to hold it off anymore and relaxes his throat to take Dean all the way down in deft swoop, humming around the length. Dean gasps loudly as his thighs fly up of their own accord, stomach muscles twitching.

“Oh God!” Dean cries, voice ragged. “I’m gonna…ungh…I’m gonna come.”

Cas knew this already though, and just continues to hum as he bobs twice, three times, before Dean comes with Cas’s name on his lips, release spurting down the Centurion’s throat. Cas milks Dean through his orgasm, only pulling off right before the cock softening in his mouth can become over sensitized.

Dean falls back on the hard bed, utterly sated, panting as he rides the high of his orgasm. He closes his eyes, feeling the low buzz thrumming beneath his skin. Above him, Dean can hear the slick slide of Cas’s hand as Cas slowly fists his own cock, and opens his eyes to looks down at Cas’s hand. Dean pulls it away, replaces with his own and fists Cas’s cock a few times before pushing at the man’s chest. Cas looks at him quizzically, and Dean sees it in his eyes, the moment Cas gets the hint and moves back.

Dean immediately rolls from the cot, dropping to his knees beside it. Castiel shuffles until he’s sitting on the edge of the cot, Dean kneeling between his knees. Dean wastes no time, dipping in and taking Castiel’s cock into his mouth in one quick, fluid motion. Castiel groans above him, fisting his hands into Dean’s hair, Dean groaning as his hair is pulled at the roots. The vibrations are incredible on Castiel’s cock and he pulls Dean’s head in, until the head of his cock nudges the back of Dean’s throat.

Dean chokes slightly and Cas pulls out a little. Dean licks at the tip, now leaking pre-come, and feels Cas shudder at the sensation, so he does it again. Cas lets out a broken moan of Dean’s name and it’s so needy and raw that Dean feels satisfaction curling in his gut.

He presses his tongue on the vein under the other man’s cock before going back to toy with the crown with the silky underside of his tongue. Castiel tugs impatiently on his hair. Dean shoots him a smug expression around the thick cock in his mouth before swallowing it whole. He breathes around the thick muscle choking him and hums a little. Castiel’s grip tightens in hair, edging closer to his climax. Dean then sets a punishing pace, shoving his face forward until his nose in the coarse black curls at the base of the other man’s dick and then pulling out before moving forward again. He lets himself suck at the head, tasting the salty liquid at the tip before swallowing again. He bobs his head up and down and feels the drool leaking down his chin. He grabs the other man’s thigh and pulls him forward to encourage him to thrust into Dean, to use his mouth. It takes a moment before Cas gets the memo and begins thrusting into the hot, wet cavern of Dean’s mouth, the display of trust only adding to the heat building deep in his abdomen. Dean relaxes his throat and tries to keep up the suction, pleased with his apparent success when Cas curses and thrusts hard half a dozen more times before he spills inside Dean’s mouth with a ragged moan. Dean feels the salty bitterness coat his tongue and swallows it down, sucking more gently then so that not a drop of Cas is wasted. Cas slowly pulls his dick out from Dean’s mouth, mindful of the man’s likely sore jaw.

Dean pulls back after Cas’s fingers relax in his hair. Cas immediately pulls him up and smashes his lips against Dean’s, licking his way into Dean’s mouth until he can taste himself on Dean’s tongue. The kiss becomes less frantic as Castiel comes down from his high, until Dean drops his head to the crook of Castiel’s neck, his arms encircling the other man’s waist.

“Stay here tonight,” Dean pleads. Before Cas can reply, he continues. “Alastair isn’t here, he won’t find out. And tomorrow it’ll all be over. I just want you to be here with me tonight.”

Dean tenses for the rejection that he’s sure will come, but then Cas is sighing against his head and saying, “Okay.”

Dean holds Cas tighter before they both lay down on the bed. It’s so small that they are fully pressed against each other when they find a position they are both comfortable in, but neither man complains.

The sky is tinged with dark red as dawn comes upon them. The pale light of the sun illuminates the bodies lying on the dirt, the sight at once ghastly and peaceful.

A small band of soldiers, no doubt tipped off by some traitor, had ambushed their attempt to escape. Even weaponless though, the gladiators had fought fiercely.  Some of the braver slaves, mostly those that had been captured as prisoners of war, had also joined the fray and fought mercilessly with the energy of the desperate. Unsurprisingly, they had lost many of their ranks, some even changing sides in fear of defeat. In the end though, beneath the light of a benevolent starry sky, the skirmish had wound down to a gruesome close as the oppressed gained their freedom with each fatal slash of a pilfered sword. The air, though heavy with the copper tang of blood and brutality didn’t smell like the dirt and throngs of humanity packed into the arena; it was _pure_ , in the way that only the aftermath of a battle with a definitive victor could be.

The scene before them is nothing new for Cas, and despite the heaviness of his heart at having felled his own kind, the Centurion knows that it had been worth it as he takes in the sight of the battle-weary survivors. Their shoulders may be hunched and lips curled in disgust and grief for now, but someday the light will come back to their eyes as they reclaim their lives, one day at a time. He feels oddly moved at the thought that there will now be generations born of some of the survivors that wouldn’t have existed otherwise. Dean’s name will be spoken with all the reverence and honor that he deserves as the tale of the Righteous Man that fought for their freedom is handed down. Beautiful, fearsome, brave Dean, whose heart is so good, but will probably never accept it as the fact that Cas feels it to so glaringly be.

From his spot where he is squatted down attending to one of the wounded, Dean feels the familiar weight of eyes resting on him and glances over. Cas is looking at him with that same look of awe and devotion that’s always made Dean want to shrink in on himself, but as always, he can’t bring himself to look away. They’ve been through much together, and the fact that they’re now on the cusp of building a new life- a life they want- leaves Dean nearly breathless with a hope that he never dared allow himself before as he holds the gaze of his beloved.

Of course neither man is under the illusion that this would be the last of their struggle; there will most certainly be many tribulations as they work toward their hard-earned freedom, probably until they take their last breaths. For now though, they’ve cleared the first hurdle and their hearts continue to beat in their breasts and their lungs still fill and release. And as the two men hold the same gaze they’ve always reserved for just the two of them, since that fateful day that one boy decided to fight alongside the other, neither needs words to convey that yes, the fight always was and always will be worth it.

**THE END**

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and go give the fantastic art that inspired this story some love!


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